


Kings and Queens and Pawns

by subjxctseventeen



Category: Achievement Hunter, FAHC - Fandom, Fake AH crew - Fandom, Rooster Teeth
Genre: FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Kidnapping, Revenge, This probably sucks, Violence, anyways go to OrphanBrigade on tumblr because they are my life, bad decision making, including mine, on everyone's part, sorry my dudes, this is for OrphanBrigade's April challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjxctseventeen/pseuds/subjxctseventeen
Summary: The Fake AH Crew has made quite a name for themselves, striking fear into the hearts of any who dare step in their path to control of Los Santos.Rumors are circling that the Fake AH ringleader Geoff Ramsey has a few little ones under his wing. Some say he’s loosened his grip on the city because of them. Others say his dynasty is stronger than ever with them around. All anyone knows for sure is that Ramsey’s entire being chills with dread at the thought of something happening to them.But there’s a new kingpin in the Fake’s stomping ground. Ramsey’s empire lies in ashes on the newcomer's horizon. Ramsey’s family sits, unknowing, in his crosshairs.One night, Geoff and his right hand, Jack Pattillo, come home to a kicked-down door, a torn-up apartment, and their three boys- Michael, Gavin, and Ray- missing. Geoff and Jack’s eldest “son”, Ryan, is awoken in the middle of the night to a call he’d only gotten in his worst nightmares.





	1. A Phone Call

**Author's Note:**

>       This could very honestly be the worst thing you’ve ever read, I have literally no idea if this is any good. I hope it doesn't suck.  
>       Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan makes a little headway in finding Michael, Ray, and Gavin. For a price.

      Days passed like years before Ryan was ready to call Geoff and Jack back. He rubbed his eyes as the other end rung, the silence of the room resting heavy on his chest. The black grease paint covering his eyelids from his typical war paint stained his fingers, deep and ashen like charcoal.  
      Standing in the quiet of the abandoned storeroom, the chill in the air that had set in shortly after sundown cut through Ryan’s jacket like it was nothing. It had been unusually chilly for days.  
      Geoff got straight to the point as soon as he picked up. “Did you find them?” His voice a strained whisper.  
      “No,” came Ryan’s reply, low and distancing. “But I have someone who can tell me who has them now.”  
      “Ry, there’s not a-... I don’t mean to… I…” Geoff cut himself off with a sigh. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m worried.”  
      “I know. We’ll find them. Alive and well.”  
      “It’s been three days, and radio silence-” Jack piped up.  
      “I know, Jack, just-”  
      “They should have spoken up by now, contacted us, demanded a ransom-” She continued, a hint of panic growing in her voice.  
      “Maybe it’s not about money, Jacks. They could just be proving a point.” Said Geoff, his voice rising to meet hers.  
      “What _point? _”__  
      “I don’t know, maybe that we’re-”  
      Ryan heard the man behind him stir awake. “Have you guys slept?” Said Ryan, suddenly stopping Geoff and Jack’s growing argument, his voice at a near whisper.  
      “Have-...?” Geoff started. “No. No, we haven’t.”  
      “Me neither.” The young man admitted. “Try to get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”  
      Geoff sighed. “I’ll think about it. And Ryan, if this fucker tells you anything, don’t even _think_ about going off on your own.”  
      “Sleep well, Geoff. You too, Jack.”  
      “Ryan, don’t-” Jack started, but Ryan hung up quickly and slid his phone into his pocket, turning it off. His hands rested there for a moment, before one clenched into a fist around the switchblade tucked away against the hem of the pocket.  
      Taking a deep breath, he checked his watch. Saturday, 1:24 AM. He had about seven hours to get what he needed and get home before his parents noticed his absence-if they noticed in the first place. Anyways, if he was lucky, he’d be done and home before dawn.  
“Right, then,” Ryan cleared his throat. “You’re not going to enjoy this.”  
      He turned to stare down the man he’d tied to a chair. Already the man smelled of sweat, his fear and anxiety nearly palpable in the chilly air of the otherwise empty storeroom. The man’s breaths were ragged and he wouldn’t make eye contact. Ryan sat in the chair across from the man and pulled a neatly folded picture out of his pocket.  
      “I don’t know what you want,” the man started, his voice unsure and rambling. “I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I swear, I don’t know-”  
      “You know who I’m looking for.” Ryan interrupted. He held up the picture. “I’m looking for them.”  
      “I… I’ve never seen those kids before in my life, I-”  
      “You were part of the crew contracted to kidnap them. I have two questions, so think long and hard about what comes out of your mouth right now-” Ryan lowered the picture and raised the switchblade. The man’s eyes followed the glinting metal with fear. “Who hired you, and where did you take them?”  
      There was silence for a moment, then, “Please, I don’t know-”  
      “I don’t have time for this.” The man’s pleas were cut off sharply by a stifling gasp and a scream as Ryan’s knife plunged into the man’s kneecap.

  

     It was his favorite picture. Ryan had taken it the day they all went to the beach for Michael’s birthday, the late July heat fading into a comfortable summer cool as the sun went down. The picture was a perfect candid- his favorite memory frozen in time. He’d snapped it just as a wave had come crashing down onto Gavin’s sandcastle, capturing the perfectly-timed expression of shock on his face. The young brit was looking right at the camera, his eyes seeming to cry out, “Did that really just happen?”. Splotches of pink spread over Michael’s fair nose and cheeks, just above his surprised-yet-amused grin. Ray was kneeling, elbows deep in the wet sand, eyes up to his brothers, a laugh spreading across his face and dancing before his eyes.  
      The photo was faded, folded and a bit torn at the creases, but the joy on his younger brothers’ faces still struck Ryan with a searing pain to his chest. His boys.  
      The photo laid, propped up by a small rock, on the floor a few feet from Ryan’s victim. Ryan looked to it throughout the night whenever his victim’s cries shook him to his core.  
      Ryan knew what he needed to do- he needed the name of who’d ordered the man before him to kidnap his brothers. He needed where they’d been taken.  
      He’d do whatever he had to to get them back.  
      But this wasn’t him. Ryan’s hands shook at every shout, every cry, every plea he drew from the pale lips of the stranger before him. In the sparse light of the abandoned storeroom, Ryan must have looked like some angel of death- haunting shadows of red, white, and black smeared across his face. However, deep under the guise of a killer and the facepaint, Ryan knew who he really was- a scared eighteen-year-old kid, grasping at straws to save his family. He knew he needed to do this, but the darkness resting in the pit of his stomach and in the base of his throat grew every time the man before him begged for mercy, for his life, and eventually, for a quick death.

  

   By the time the sun had risen, Ryan had blood up to his forearms and a name- _Malik _.__ Supposedly he was a newcomer to the Los Santos underground and had his eyes on the top. The man didn’t know where Michael, Gavin, and Ray had been taken, he’d gotten his money for the kidnapping and left.

      The tortured man before Ryan should have lost his life for what he did. He’d helped to rip Ryan’s boys away from him, and for that, Ryan should have torn away every last bit of humanity he had left before shoving his knife deep into his chest.  
      He wanted to, desperately, but the knife shook in his quaking fists. Instead of lodging the knife in the man’s jugular where it belonged, he lowered it, wiped the blood off onto his jacket sleeve, and returned it to his pocket. He checked his watch- 4:02 AM. Every minute spent dragged at his conscience, pulling him lower and lower below the surface. His actions felt necessary- they were necessary- but they were drowning him all the same.  
      Regardless of Ryan’s mercy, both men in the storeroom became shadows of their former selves that night.


	2. Weekend at Burnie's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan reaches out for a little help and is met with resistance.

      Malik.  
      He’d never heard of him before.  
      That wasn’t to say Ryan knew of every up and coming crime lord across Los Santos, but if the Fake AH Crew had bad blood with this guy, he would at least have recognized the name.  
      Fortunately for Ryan, he knew someone that did know of every up and coming crime lord in Los Santos, and recognized the name.  
      “I don’t know where he turns in for the night, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Burnie, leaning back in his chair.  
      Burnie and Geoff were good friends and allies, each with significant reputations, despite the fact that Burnie had three times the resources and eight times the manpower.  
      After getting home quickly to clean up and get a few fitful winks of sleep, Ryan had left a note for his parents on the kitchen counter- _“babysitting. the usuals are gone for the weekend. i’ll be home before school on monday- R.”_ \- and headed out the door, dialing Burnie’s cell to see if they could meet.  
      Burnie wasn't in one of his several penthouses, city apartments, shoreline condos, or gang-run hi-rise businesses- instead, he was in a dusty, beat up, old safehouse far south of the city.  
      “I just need to know how to contact him.”  
      “To do what? Meet up for coffee? Ryan, if anyone knows anything about this guy, it’s that he’s bloodthirsty, power-hungry, and fucking insane. You think you can just _ask_ for those little boys back?”  
      “I wasn’t planning on asking.”  
      “What was the plan, then? _Is_ there even a plan?”  
      There was, albeit a bad one, but it was a plan all the same. Ryan was going to contact Malik posing as Geoff, demand a meeting, then hold Malik hostage until he released Ryan’s brothers.  
      When Ryan explained it to Burnie, he had to admit, it didn’t sound great out loud.  
      “That’s… that’s it?” Burnie asked. “That’s all you’ve got?”  
      “It’s all I need.”  
      “He’ll tear you apart.”  
      “He won’t get the chance.”  
      Burnie began to say something, but faltered, and sighed instead. He reached across the table separating the two men, grabbed a scrap piece of paper, and pulled a pen from his pocket. Burnie scribbled down a number and handed the note to Ryan, hesitating slightly. “This’ll connect you. Not directly to Malik, but he’ll get the message.”  
      If Ryan had been any less desperate, he’d have hesitated too. But the longer they waited, the longer his boys were in the hands of someone so… well, how Burnie’d put it: power hungry. Bloodthirsty. Fucking insane. He nodded to Burnie, tucked the slip of paper in his pocket, and turned to the door.  
      “Haywood, wait-” Burnie stood, reaching out to stop him. “I can’t let you do this alone. Just meeting Malik by yourself is a suicide mission, nevermind threatening him. He’s kind of a psychopath.”  
      “What am I supposed to do, Burnie?”  
      “Let me get Geoff and Jack, fill them in-”  
      “No!” Ryan turned back towards Burnie, fists clenched. Burnie took a slight step back, regarding the teen carefully. “Geoff and Jack are already calling in every favor they have trying to find the kids, they don’t… I just-” He took a deep breath. “I need to do this. I need to see him.”  
      “They can help you. How do you think you’re gonna get those boys back by yourself? You don’t know where they are, if they’re hurt, what kind of guards or guns or equipment Malik has-”  
      “Burnie. If this guy had taken the most important people to you in the whole world, what would you do?”  
      Burnie looked away, glancing up after a moment. “I’d tear him to shreds.”  
      “Then you know I have to do this. I have to deal with this alone.”  
      “Is this something you can do alone?” Burnie asked, his voice low. Ryan didn’t answer- he didn’t have an answer. “Think about this. Everything you’re going through right now, Geoff and Jack are feeling, too. They can help you.”  
      Still, Ryan stayed quiet, hardly meeting Burnie’s eyes. Ryan knew the older man was right, but he felt in the pit of his stomach with every fiber of his being that he needed to face Malik on his own.  
      Finally, Burnie sighed to break the silence. “Look, kid, I like you, I do, but I’d be even higher on Geoff’s shit list than I am now if I let you go.”  
      “You-”  
      “Which is why,” Burnie stopped him. “I’m giving you a head start. But as soon as I come to my senses and call Geoff, expect very angry backup on your part. Risinger’s downstairs, have him show you to the weapons room. Take whatever you need.”  
      “I owe you one, Burns,” Ryan nodded, turning and heading for the door.  
      “Even if this does go according to plan, Ryan,” Burnie called after him, sitting back into his chair again. “I have a feeling you won’t be thanking me later.”

  

     Once Ryan’d left, Burnie sat alone in the room for a moment, thinking. Then, he reached for his phone, dialing quickly. “Sorola? Get Heyman and Hullum and meet me at the south safehouse. We have work to do. In the meantime, get eyes on every street, and call in a few favors to get some more. ASAP, Gus.”  
      “That’s kind of a tall order. Can I ask why?” Sorola’s voice crackled over the line.  
      “I just need to make sure Ramsey's kid Haywood is never out of sight. Wherever he goes, have at least two people shadowing within earshot, but don’t approach.”  
      “What’s going on? Is this about the Fakes’ kids getting grabbed?”  
      “Sure is. Tell everyone to be ready. Nothing good is going to come out of whatever happens next.”  
      “Do you want me to get Ramsey and Pattillo, too?” Sorola asked.  
      “... No,” Burnie started, sighing and rubbing his eyes. “Not yet. And God help me, if they kill me for this, make sure Geoff doesn’t throw my body in a fucking dumpster or something.”


	3. Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The point of no return, Malik, and a bakery.

      Ryan sat on a bench in the park, tapping his foot anxiously. This was the point of no return.  
      That wasn’t exactly true. He’d already called the number Burnie’d given him. He’d done his gruffest, most pissed off impression of the head of the Fake AH Crew when someone answered. “You know who I am. Where are they?”  
      The voice on the other end had been masked and robotic, but something about it had still sent a wave of unease through Ryan. “Mr. Ramsey, it’s a pleasure.”  
      Instead of demanding more answers, he’d blurted out a location- Saint's Bakery (home of the city’s best bagels as well as a notorious drug den run from the shop’s basement)- and a time- sundown. He’d said he was coming alone, and that he expected the same. Then he’d hung up and snapped the burner phone in half. Just in case.  
      So yeah, this wasn’t the point of no return. The point of no return was about fifty miles behind him. The point of no return was a dot in the rearview mirror.  
      January evenings in Los Santos weren’t really wintery, as far as the rest of the country was concerned, but the week’s cold streak continued. 40 degrees, windy, and drizzly- a bitter chill ran up his spine under his black jacket.  
      A borrowed backpack sat next to him, completely prepped, thanks to Burnie and Risinger. He had his mask, guns, knives, spare ammo, and a little food and water. He’d hoped to grab some spare clothes or blankets for the boys, but he didn’t know which safehouse Geoff and Jack were in, and he’d never be able to sneak past them, not as long as they were in high-alert mode.  
      Ryan sighed looked up to the city’s skyline. The sun was a smudge of orange surrounded by blazing reds and yellows, all contrasting against the deep shadows of hi-rises. Just about time.  
      Pushing himself up off of the bench, Ryan cut through the grass towards the sidewalk, taking in the brisk air in a deep breath. He slung his bag over his shoulder and kept his head down, making for the park’s exit. The bakery wasn’t much of a walk from where he was, he could make it in around five minutes, but he walked slowly, anxiety creeping up his spine.  
      This was stupid. This was so, so dumb. _What the fuck am I doing?_

  

     Before he knew it, he was right around the corner from Saint’s Bakery. Pressing himself against the brick of a nearby alleyway, Ryan slid his backpack off his shoulders and opened it. On the very top was his mask, the jet black skull. It was a little worn around the edges, but it hadn’t failed him yet. He pulled it on quickly, and glanced up, taking a deep breath. Wearing the mask let him adopt a whole new persona- the dangerous, ruthless, uncontrollable killer. He felt cold, threatening, ready. Standing, he put his backpack back on and began to head to the bakery, the street around him falling into a comfortable dimness as the sun slid below the horizon.

      A man stood at the bakery, looking into the shop’s window. A dark jacket was pulled over his broad shoulders, and his hands were nestled deep into his pockets. The man stood taller than Ryan did and was built like a fighter. He didn’t look armed, Ryan noted, approaching slowly. Glancing up and down the street, Ryan noticed no suspicious figures, just a two women waiting by the street’s bus stop. Was thinking that Malik had honored Ryan’s demands in coming alone naive?

      _Here we go _,__ Ryan thought, slowing to a stop just behind the tall man.  
      “Y’know, when I imagined meeting the infamous Geoff Ramsey, I think I expected a better place than-” Malik turned from the shop window, grinning until his eyes fell on the masked stranger behind him. Something flashed behind his eyes- recognition, unease, contempt- but was gone faster than it had appeared. A dark smirk replaced it, swiping at Ryan’s ego. “So he sends his errand boy instead. Or are you supposed to be his attack dog?”  
      “Funny.” The growl in Ryan’s voice usually took adversaries down a peg, but the man before him looked unfazed.  
      Malik’s presence was a corrosive mix of threatening and hazardous. Everything about him felt… unpredictable to Ryan. The younger man clenched his fists, now more unsure of himself than ever.  
      Malik tilted his head slightly, rolling his eyes. “Well, this has been nice, but you aren’t the guy I’m here for. Send my regards to Ramsey.” Malik started to turn away from Ryan, chuckling to himself.  
      The older man didn’t get far before Ryan’s hands were wrapped around his arm and the back of his neck, his grip unyielding. Ryan shoved Malik hard against the brick siding of the bakery before dragging him into a small, dark side alley. Ryan threw the man to the ground, his fists clenched. “Where are they?”  
      Malik’s response- a mocking, bemused grin- only fueled Ryan’s growing anger. “Is,” He began, snickering slightly, “is that why you’re here? You’re gonna beat me up until I beg for forgiveness and give you those kids back?” Ryan gritted his teeth, taking a threatening step towards the bigger man.  
      “If so…” Malik pushed himself off of the ground and brushed himself off. “You’d better get started.”  
      Ryan crouched slightly and threw himself at Malik, fists up, but the man was ready, meeting Ryan’s force with a devastating punch to the chest, forcing the younger man off balance. Spinning slightly, Ryan tried to regain his composure, but before he could retaliate, Malik was on him, all chaotic fists and elbows and laughs. Ryan’d been taught how to swing with the best of them, but Malik was something else entirely. The older man was taller, stronger, more driven. Ryan couldn’t keep up and was taking one hell of a beating. Every weapon Ryan had tried to pull out had been removed from his grasp in seconds and tossed to the side.  
      After what felt like an eternity, Ryan was on his knees, fighting to catch his breath. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, and something felt broken in his chest- his didn’t know if it was just a few ribs or his pride as well. Sometime during the struggle, Malik had torn Ryan’s mask off, leaving him clad in smeared face paint.  
      Malik circled him, his eyes hungry like a shark’s. There was plenty of blood in the water, that was for sure. Ryan had seriously underestimated the man standing before him. Burnie had been right- Malik was bloodthirsty in every sense of the word. “Trust me, kid, this has been fun…” Malik stretched his arms and cracked his knuckled. Ryan glanced up to meet the man’s eyes as he pulled something from his waistband. “But I’m done now.”  
      Malik was brandishing a gun. 

 

   “Stop!” A voice came from down the alley as footsteps thundered their way. Malik’s gun was up in a flash, and Ryan looked up to see two women he recognized faintly- the ones at the bus stop. They’d been two of Burnie’s.

      One of them, Salcedo, Ryan remembered, reached up, her gun pointing straight at Malik. The woman behind her, a blonde whose name eluded Ryan, did the same. “Let the kid go, now.” Salcedo grunted.  
      Malik sighed and looked down to Ryan, feigning disappointment. “Y’know, when you’re drowning, the worst thing you can do is drag your friends down with you.” Glancing quickly back towards the newcomers, Malik pulled the trigger with no hesitation.  
      The blonde let out a small cry as a spray of blood erupted from her chest. Salcedo made the mistake of turning her head to look at her, and before she could look back to return fire, she was down next to her friend with another silenced bullet.  
      Lowering his gun and sighing, he looked down to Ryan. “Well, now that the ‘come alone’ bullshit is over and done with…” Malik’s gun was in Ryan’s face suddenly.  
      Fear and anger and anguish filled Ryan’s thoughts to the brim. He’d failed. He was as good as dead.  
      Ryan looked up again at Malik, facing his fate. But something in the man’s eyes had changed, and a slight smile was playing across his lips. “You know what?” Malik grinned and dropped his hand, returning the gun to his waistband. “Maybe I’m not done yet.”  
      Malik looked up behind Ryan and nodded. “Let’s go.”  
      Ryan heard footsteps behind him and tried to get up, get away, get into a more defensive stance, tried to do _something _,__ but something heavy and cold struck him from behind, and his eyes fluttered shut, a wild starburst of pain fading into nothingness.


	4. Call For Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariel Salcedo wakes up.

      Mariel Salcedo sat up, groaning. She clutched for her chest, then her head, where both aching with the same dull, throbbing pain. Upon falling backward from the gunshot, her head had met the cold, unforgiving pavement of the alley. The bullet had torn through her jacket and shirt, but the kevlar vest underneath had caught it.  
      It still hurt like a bitch.  
      She looked down the alleyway, and rubbed her forehead, sighing, her pulse beating hot against her skull. “Fuck…” Burnie was gonna kill them. They’d lost sight of the Fake kid, Haywood, and before she and Barbara could get to him, he'd gotten his ass kicked by that Malik asshole, the wannabe king of the world who’d shot them.  
      Who’d shot both of them… _fuck, Barbara-_  
      Mariel rolled onto her knees, quickly crawling to the woman lying just behind her. A crimson puddle bloomed behind her head, and her eyes were closed.  
      Her heart dropped into her stomach. _No. Oh, no, no, no. Fuck!_ “Barbara!”  
      But her eyes fluttered open, and she grunted slightly. She almost kissed her right then and there- the bullet had missed the bulletproof vest and lodged into her left shoulder, but she was alive. Mariel let out a rattling breath. Thankfully, the bullet had also missed her neck-an inch higher and a few inches to the right and she would’ve been killed instantly.  
      With one hand putting pressure on Barbara’s shoulder, Mariel reached for her radio. “Burns... Sorola, copy?”  
      No answer. “Risinger? Hullum?"  _Give me a break_ … "Anyone? Hello?!” _ _  
__ Finally, to Mariel's relief, the other end of the radio crackled to life. _ _“It’s Burnie, we copy. What happened?”__  
     “We have a problem." Mariel took a deep breath, defeated.

  

    "You’re gonna want to call Ramsey and Pattillo.”


	5. Morning, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan, with a little help from Malik, comes to the conclusion that he is utterly and completely fucked.  
> Something in him doesn't agree.

      Waking up wasn’t a relief. His head pounded, nausea struck his stomach, his mouth was dry, and he had no fucking idea where he was.  
      Taking a coughing, shuddering breath- one or two of his ribs were cracked for sure- Ryan looked up, trying not to throw up. He was laying on his side, hands bound behind him, his shoulders screaming at the tension. His wrists burned at every slight movement, at every breath, the rope’s hot teeth biting into his flesh. He must have groaned- or, God forbid, whimpered- because a mocking, bemused chuckle floated over the dense silence of the room from the corner.  
      Trying to see who was laughing, Ryan took in the room. It looked like something out of a movie- the walls were beaten up and dirty, and looked no more forgiving than the concrete floor beneath him. A table- no less beat up than the rest of the room- was showcasing all of Ryan’s weapons and supplies, dumped out and spread across the wood surface haphazardly. And in the corner, sitting half-reclined on a wooden chair, was Malik.  
      “Morning, sunshine.” His smile looked almost innocent on the surface, but the look in his eyes shook Ryan to his core, sending unease and nausea through him in waves.  
      “Fuck you.”  
      Malik chuckled as if he were face to face with no more than an amusing kid. “Those manners! Geoff’s a bad influence.”  
      Ryan didn’t know what to say. Genuinely, he was stuck. Rolling onto his knees, fighting of waves of dizziness- he likely had a fun little concussion- he finally got upright. Malik smiled faintly, and stood to drag his chair towards Ryan. He stopped and sat a few feet away, regarding the other man with something that switched fluidly between amusement and malice.  
      They sat in quiet for a few moments, and it was the sharpest, most electric silence Ryan had ever felt. It crackled at the base of his spine.  
      Finally, Malik cleared his throat and spoke up. “Kid, I’d say it wasn’t personal, but…” he shrugged. “I won’t make a habit of lying to you.”  
      “Where are my brothers?”  
      “Take a good fucking look around and realize what kind of situation you’re in before you ask shit I don’t need to answer. Besides,” A deep, cold smile spread across Malik’s face, sending shocks of dread to Ryan’s heart. “It’s not like you’re getting out of this room alive.”  
      That shouldn’t have scared him like it did. He’d been in bad, life-threatening situations before- Hell, it was his job- but he’d never had his brothers’ lives hanging in the balance.  
      And he’d never felt so hopeless. Malik was right- he knew he wasn’t leaving with his life, nevermind with Michael, Ray, and Gavin. “Then… answer this, at least. Why are you doing this?”  
      “Simple enough. I want what you have. In taking Ramsey’s precious little boys, I have a power over him no one’s ever had before.”  
      Geoff had money, influence, power, territory, that was true. But if that’s all Malik wanted, so did every other crime lord in Los Santos, big and small. “Why not Burnie then?”  
      “What?”  
      Ryan looked up, meeting Malik’s eyes. “Burnie’s got more money, more territory, more to lose. Why not go after him?”  
      Malik thought for a moment, his gaze never leaving Ryan. Finally, he said, “Everything that’s his will be mine soon enough, don’t you worry about that.”  
      “But wh-”  
      “Because Burnie is careful, you know that. He’s cautious, toeing the line of paranoid. And he doesn’t allow himself to keep weak links around. Geoff Ramsey is reckless, hot-headed, and usually drunk. On top of that, he and Pattillo paraded those kids around like they were just asking somebody to grab them. Who the fuck else would I want to take down first?”  
      Ryan said nothing, his teeth gritted into a snarl that seemed to have no impact of his captor.  
      “Besides, kid. The time of Ramsey and Pattillo and the Fakes is over. Dusk settles on his broken kingdom as a new power rises up like the sun. A new dawn. A new city.” He swept his hands out, framing out his vision with melodramatic flare.  
      “You’re insane.”  
      “Insane? Maybe.” Malik laughed. “I prefer idealistic. It won’t matter- when I send you back to Geoff in a body bag, he’ll throw up every white flag he has to save the rest of his sons.”  
      “I swear to God if you think you can-”  
      “There aren’t any gods in this city.” Malik scoffed, eyes darkened by contempt. Ryan’d struck a nerve. “Only kings and queens and pawns. Men like Geoff and me-” Malik’s eyes flickered like gaslight, something rash laid behind the shadowy hues. “Kings. Born and bred to be rulers. Men- _boys _like you-...”__  
      Ryan rolled his eyes, but Malik’s hand shot forwards, tightening in Ryan’s sandy hair, tugging his head up roughly so that he winced at the sharp pain and was forced to look up at Malik.  
      “... were made to be used and tossed aside by men like me. Like Geoff. Do you think Ramsey cares about you? Pattillo, even? You exist to help them stay alive. You’re one of many nameless pawns a chess match. He’d sacrifice you in a heartbeat if it meant saving his real family. There’s a reason I didn’t take you along with the little ones. You wouldn’t be worth it the trouble. Ramey wouldn’t come for you if I paid him to.”  
      Before Ryan could argue, Malik released his grip on Ryan for a moment before kicking him in the stomach with no remorse. Ryan doubled over, gasping for the air that had abandoned him, his teeth gritted. The ribs that had likely been cracked when he first encountered Malik screamed at the impact, and if they hadn’t been injured before, they sure as hell were now. Malik backed away and turned to face the table where Ryan’s things had been dumped out. He took his sweet time sifting through guns and supplies until he found what he was looking for- Ryan’s thin, silvery switchblade.  
      “Things get back to me quickly, kid. Some of my guys found the poor fuck you tore up in that warehouse. Nice work. A little sloppy, but it was effective considering that you’re here.”  
      In that moment, Ryan felt nothing. His pulse pounded in his ears and the room seemed to shift around him, but he felt empty with sadness and fear and anger- at Malik, at himself. He was hopeless. He’d die in this room, having failed Ray, Gavin, and Michael; having failed Geoff and Jack. His little family, split in two.  
      “You left him alive, which honestly doesn’t surprise me. You don’t have the balls.”  
      Ryan’s hands curled into fists behind him on the concrete floor- he could jump on the man’s back, or throw him to the side and try to cut himself free, he could make for the door- but he couldn’t get his legs to move. Ice struck his heart. He was paralyzed.  
      _Stop. Stop this. They need you._  
      But he couldn’t move. Here he was- a kid who’d run head-first into a burning building with no plans, no hope, no chance. _Fuck! Come on!_  
      “I’m afraid that when I’m through with you…” Ryan looked up to see Malik looming over him, the metal of the knife glinting sickeningly in the sparse light. “I won’t be able to offer you the same courtesy.”  
      Malik walked behind him, and Ryan expected to feel the cold bite of the metal pressing against his neck, but instead… Malik cut him free. What? He wanted to shout, to snarl, to prove he wasn’t giving up, to use the window of opportunity Malik had given him to fight, to escape, but any resistance he might have put forth was washed away as Malik quickly got back around Ryan and pulled him up by the collar roughy, holding Ryan’s own knife to his throat.  
      He then understood why Malik had cut his hands free, why Malik hadn't just killed him outside the bakery. He wanted to watch him struggle. He wanted to watch Ryan fight for his life.  
      Malik must have bumped the table on his way back in front of Ryan, because something fluttered to the floor. Squinting, Ryan searched the floor for it only for his heart to stop in his chest.  
      The picture. Michael, Gavin, and Ray, playing in the sand, all smiles and laughs. A few droplets of blood had stained the photo’s corner, distorting the colors slightly.  
      His heart hurt as he looked into his brothers’ cheerful, smiling eyes.  
      Malik must have noticed, because he turned around, loosening the grip on Ryan’s jacket just slightly to pick up the picture.  
      “Well, ain’t that adorable. They’re a lot cuter when they’re conscious, huh?”  
      Everything around him started to seem... faded, but Malik’s scene unfolding in front of him was as if it was in high definition. Ryan could hear his heart pounding in his chest, Malik’s slightly muffled voice, and nothing else.  
      “I’ll make sure to tell them big brother Ryan died for nothing.”  
      The tips of his fingers felt hot and there was a strange pressure behind his eyes. What… what was happening?  
      “It _is_ Ryan, right? The boys kept shouting your name, begging for you. They were convinced you’d come for them. Too bad, huh?” Malik, who’d been looking mockingly at the picture, looked down to Ryan, and something flashed across his face- that same unease that Ryan had noticed when he first saw Malik by the bakery. Maybe Malik saw whatever was going on in Ryan’s head written on his face. Maybe he didn’t like what he saw.  
      Quickly, Malik tried to regain his composure and said, “Well, enough of the dramatics.” With that, he let go of Ryan’s collar, and with the knife still in hand, tore the photo in two, letting the pieces fall to the concrete next to them. 

 

     In that moment, Ryan knew what he was feeling. The laser focus, the muffled background, the odd pressure in his head, which had spread to his chest. The burning in his fingertips that had moved through his arms and up to his neck and cheeks.  
      The most prominent sensation, however, was the sudden and complete lack of fear.  
      He knew this new feeling, though he’d never felt it before like this.  
      This was rage.  
      Pure, unadulterated.  
      This was bloodlust.  
      Hot like a fever, cold like a ice water flowing through his veins.

      And something in him broke.

      A shout was ripped from his throat as he threw himself headfirst at Malik. Malik was bigger than the teen by far, but he’d caught him off guard and slammed him into the wooden table. Wrestling for the knife in Malik’s hand, Ryan used every fiber of his strength to pull Malik to the ground.  
      Jack and Geoff had always taught him to fight dirty, and fight dirty he did. He threw his elbows wherever and whenever he could, he punched and scratched and pulled and tore within an inch of his life, fury pouring over him, flushing hot in his cheeks.  
      But Malik wasn’t going down easy. He was bigger, stronger, and farther off his rocker than Ryan was. Whenever he could get a hand free, Malik reached for the table full of Ryan’s guns and knives, placing a few good kicks to Ryan’s abdomen and chest.  
      Ryan finally got on top of him, wrapping his hands around Malik’s throat. He couldn’t hold him down for long, he needed leverage- the strap of the backpack, the rope he’d been bound with, something to stop Malik from taking another breath-  
      In that moment, Malik bucked off of the ground, pulling his arms in fast to push Ryan off as if he were a ragdoll. In pulling his arms to his chest, Malik tore straight through Ryan’s jacket with his knife, slicing Ryan. Ryan sucked in a hot breath and kicked himself off of Malik. He didn't know how deep the cut was, and didn't have time to look.  
      He couldn’t compete with Malik, he already knew that. Backing away towards the other side of the room, he began to panic slightly. He didn’t have a strategy, a plan, or a chance in hell of getting out of there alive.  
      As if reading his mind, Malik took advantage of Ryan’s lack of hope and lunged for the teen, slamming him hard against the wall. Dropping the knife, Malik’s empty hand curled into a fist.  
      “You think you can stop me?” Malik cried, landing blow after blow on Ryan’s face, chest, abdomen. But the pain felt far away. “You think _anyone_ can stop me?”  
      As Malik reeled back for another punch, Ryan drew one leg up and planted a solid kick to his stomach, rolling to his side once Malik had backed off. He had to get something- the rope, the knife, no, a gun.  
      Dodging just out of Malik’s grasp, Ryan stumbled to his feet and lunged for the table, trying to get his hands on something, anything. But as soon as the cold metal of a pistol met Ryan’s grasp, he felt Malik’s hands wrap around his ankle and drag him back, the handgun tumbling off the table and skidding away across the concrete.  
      Both Malik and Ryan dove for the gun- Ryan’s hand wrapped around the handle, Malik’s hand grasped at Ryan’s wrist with a grip like steel. They both wrestled for it, breathless and struggling, teeth bared.  
      Then Malik was on top of him with an elbow to Ryan’s throat, a snicker escaping through a tight-lipped grin. With the last shred of strength he had, Ryan pulled his arms to his chest, the handgun between the tense bodies of the two men.

  

     The fear in Ryan’s heart and in his soul was gone in an instant. Only rage remained.  
      He closed his eyes.  
      He squeezed the trigger; once, twice.  
      _BLAM. BLAM. _  
__      Silence.


	6. Godlike

      The weight of the air’s chill rested heavy on Ryan’s chest. Breathing was difficult.  
      No, not Ryan. Ryan would have hesitated. Ryan would have thought. Ryan would have been scared. Ryan wouldn't have been able to feel the anger like lightning erupting through his veins, sparking down his spine and coursing through every fiber of his being.  
  
      This wasn’t Ryan. The old Ryan had torn and come undone at the seams. The old Ryan had fallen away, forgotten. This was someone else.  
  
      Despite the cool bite of the room slicing through his jacket, sweat trailed from his temple to his chin. His heart raced. He could feel his blood burning from his heart to his fingertips in a wild staccato beat.  
      Malik had shoved himself off of Ryan and dragged himself to the wall where he now sat- two holes gored into his chest. His breaths were wheezes and redness flowed freely down his shirt.  
      He could end Malik right then and there. A bullet between his eyes would finish him.  
      But Ryan realized he didn’t want to kill him. Not yet, anyway.  
      Instead, he turned and picked up his knife from where Malik had discarded it. The hilt of the blade felt familiar in his hand. Ryan crouched before Malik, reaching for the man’s neck with a newfound strength.  
      “I swear to God,” Malik sputtered, reaching up to defend himself with weak hands, a thin coating of red on his lips. “If you think you can-”  
      _No gods._  
      That’s what Malik had said before. Ryan’s hands tightened- one around the knife’s handle, one around his Malik’s neck. Adrenaline and gasoline ran through his veins, setting his rage-filled heart and eyes alight.  
      _No kings._  
      Malik struggled and gasped in his grip, but Ryan's newfound strength didn’t falter.  
      _No pawns._  
      Malik was wrong. His life wasn’t a fucking chess match. He was no one’s pawn. He served no one.  
      _Only men._  
      Only men like him. Ryan’s grip on the man’s neck loosened- a moment’s respite, a brief calm before the storm- just as he plunged the knife hilt-deep into the Malik’s chest. The squelch of flesh and blood beneath the silvery blade was instantaneous and sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine, but he decided he loved the feeling of it.  
      He relished seeing Malik’s eyes widen, seeing a tiny gasp escape from his mouth, seeing a trickle of blood join the other stains on his white shirt. Nothing else felt real or important- just Malik, the knife, and this new Ryan that scared and tempted and intoxicated him like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.  
      Malik slumped against the wall before Ryan, eyes wide in some corrosive mix of surprise, fear, knowing. Working quickly, Ryan made sure Malik felt as much pain before he died. His knife sliced through skin like ink over old paper, leaving trails of red in its wake.

  

     The Ryan that had felt fear and pity and confusion in torturing the man in the abandoned storeroom was gone. In his place was the soul of a murderer.

      Ryan stood after the light had been drained from Malik’s eyes. Time to move. He wasn’t done yet. Working quickly, he grabbed a few guns and knives and loaded the rest of his supplies into his backpack. He slung the bag over one shoulder and headed for the door, but stopped short. The torn photo of Michael, Ray, and Gavin laid on the ground just before his feet.  
      His pulse pounded behind his eyes, bloodlust seemed to consume his entire being. Nothing could stop him, derail him. He was going to kill every one of them for what they’d done to his family. Every last one. Crush them into dust between his fists and scatter them to the wind. Tear them down like some failed revolution against an endless power, his endless power.  
      Ryan pushed through the door, a knife up.  
      What was a mob like this to a man like him?  
      _Not a man,_ he thought.  
      _Not a pawn._ A bullet found its way into the chest of some guard before him.  
      _A king._  
      _Not a king,_ he thought  
      _What was a king like Malik to a god like him?_  
      He felt fire in his eyes and in his fists. Godlike in every sense of the word. That was the only word that fit the sensation behind Ryan’s blazing eyes and in his chest- Godlike.  
      He passed a broken pane of a mirror on the hallway floor and looked down into the eyes of a stranger. He decided he liked what he saw- eyes raw with anger and a mouth twisted into a wicked grimace somehow resembling a grin. Swipes and specks of blood patterned his face in a grim Rorschach. His knuckles were bruised and split at the bone, but he felt nothing. No, he felt something much better than nothing.  
      He seemed to float down the hall, his eyes alight. Several guards got in his way and were made to regret it, through bullets and deadly slashes of steel, opening red smiles on bare throats and deep holes through paperlike skin.  
      He took a sharp left turn down one hall and came face to face with an armed guard and a closed door- the only closed one he’d seen. The guard was no problem, proved by a single bullet. Ryan kicked hard at locked door, his pulse pounding in his ears, his knife up. He was ready. The fist clenched around the knife longed for more of whatever he’d felt killing Malik.  
      The room he’s burst into was dark and damp and smelled like fear. Ryan peered through the dark and crouched slightly, his teeth bared like a wild animal ready for a surprise attack.

  

     And then, through the dark-  
      “Hello?” Came a soft, small voice, filled to the brim with fear.  
      Ryan froze- A lull fell over the forest fire. Instantly, the hatred in his heart melted and he sank to his knees, squinting through the dark for the source of the whisper. Again he was the old Ryan, just a man- a boy, really- facing the deepest darkness he’d ever seen before. The anger that had fueled his heart just moments before had dissipated, and in its void only fear remained.  
      “B-boys?”  
      A small body stepped forwards slowly into the light of the doorway. As his eyes adjusted, Ryan’s heart shattered to see Ray in front of him, his face scratched and his classes tilted and cracked.  
      Ray’s eyes met his but widened suddenly with fear. “Ry… you…”  
      Ryan was confused for a moment at the boy’s look of terror, but he gasped slightly, remembering his reflection in the broken mirror. In the moment, he’d looked powerful, felt powerful, but to his young brother, he must have looked bloodthirsty, murderous, insane.  
      Ray took a tiny step back, eyes wary and wide.  
      “No no no no, it’s alright, bud, it’s me,” Ryan quickly wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket, getting most of the blood off, but undoubtedly leaving streaks here and there. “It's okay, it’s me.”  
      Ray searched his face and eyes, looking closely before smiling a bit, and the tiny grin shook Ryan’s tired soul to its core. However, the smile didn’t last. “They hit Michael.” Ray stated quietly, the grin fading, his eyes downcast. “He’s not waking up.”  
      “Where is he?” Ray took Ryan’s hand and led him to the far corner of the room. As Ryan’s eyes worked to adjust more, he noticed a crumpled body lay up against the wall. _Oh, fuck, Michael._ Still breathing, at least, but his chest rose and fell shallowly. Gavin sat curled up next to him, shuddering, his eyes teary and wide. The room was cold, and there were no blankets or jackets in sight. The boys’ faces were both paled and flushed with an unhealthy red at the same time, and Ryan wished he’d kept Malik alive so that he could kill him all over again.  
      “Rye-bread! You’re…. you’re bleeding.” Gavin half-whispered, reaching for Ryan’s abdomen where Malik had cut him.  
      “Oh, that’s nothing-” but Ryan cut himself off with a sudden, hissing intake of breath as Gavin innocently brushed his fingers over the slash in Ryan’s jacket. Pain flowed outwards like a starburst, and if Ryan had been standing and not crouching, he’d have fallen to his knees. He looked down to see a bit of blood where the bottom right part of his jacket had been sliced through. He began to move the jacket away from the wound, but froze.  
      So maybe it wasn’t nothing.  
      Underneath the jacket, Ryan’s white t-shirt was a complete mess of blood and slashed skin. He hadn’t noticed, between the chaos, the adrenaline, and the… whatever feeling he’d experienced, but looking now, he was hurt pretty bad. He hadn’t felt much pain in the moment, but with his adrenaline tapering off, it was just beginning to seep in, wave by wave striking his gut. It didn’t look as if any critical organs had been slashed, but it was much deeper than he thought it had been, with thick streams and rivulets of blood flowing downwards, staining the top of his trousers. Ryan pressed his hand against it, stifling a pained breath. They had to move fast- he would be no use to the boys if he was doubled over in pain or bleeding out much longer. “Alright, we need to go.”  
  
      Ryan took off his jacket, being careful not to nudge the gash, and with a little help from Gavin, wrapped Michael in it and cradled the unconscious boy to his chest with one arm. A large purple bruise flowered over Michael’s right cheek and a cut laid deep set into his cheekbone.  
      Ray took one of Gavin’s hands and one of Ryan’s as Ryan led them out of the dark room and into the brighter yet just as depressing hall. They walked silently down the hall until echoes of shuffling feet and shouts somewhere far away sent icicles into Ryan’s heart. Malik might be dead, but his remaining manpower overwhelmed him. He had knives and a few guns, but couldn’t overtake any reinforcements coming his way, especially not with a hurt child in his arms and with two more in tow.  
      He’d been so stupid. Facing Malik alone was stupid. Thinking he could get himself and the boys out in one piece was stupid. He should’ve let Burnie fill Geoff and Jack in. He should’ve done it himself when he had the chance. Now everyone was in danger and he was losing hope that they’d get out unscathed.  
      _Please,_ he begged to no one in particular. _If anything goes wrong… Just make sure my boys get back home. Please._  
      “Ryan, stop!” Gavin’s hushed warning pulled Ryan out of his own head seconds too late. They’d rounded a corner and had come face to face with six fully armed guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the first part of the story I wrote, inspired by http://mallius.net/post/76854235823/we-havent-escaped-the-madness-it-simply-wears


	7. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and the boys come face to face with the unexpected, in more ways than one.

      _Fuck!_ Ryan’s heart leapt into his throat. He pulled Ray and Gavin close behind him and held Michael tight to his chest.  
      “Hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” One guard snarled. Keeping a gun trained on Ryan and the boys, he reached for his radio. “Boss? We got the Fake kids here in hallway three. Please advise.”  
      Ryan felt Ray and Gavin quaking with fear behind him. Even if he reached the gun tucked in his waistband and managed to down a few guards, Ryan had no doubt that he’d be shot and killed before he got them all. And if he got killed, there was no telling what would happen to the boys, had they not been hurt or killed in the firefight.  
      “Boss? Come in. Malik?” Five or six more guards filled in behind the existing six as the head guard looked up and noticed that Ryan was covered in blood- some his own, some likely not. “Did you-... guns up!”  
      The rest of the guards had their guns up in a second, and Ryan turned his back to them quickly to shield Michael, Gavin, and Ray, hugging them tightly to him. He squeezed his eyes shut.  
      Gunfire sounded off, and Ryan expected the sharp explosions of pain against this back, but felt nothing. Maybe he was already dead.  
      But he heard shouting and thundering footsteps take up behind him. He felt Michael’s shallow breaths and Gavin and Ray’s shuddering whimpers beneath his arms. He wasn’t dead. _What was happening?_

  

      When the gunfire ended, Ryan opened his eyes. The boys were okay, he decided, seeing Gavin and Ray looking up at him, the fear in their eyes likely matching the fear in his. Ryan turned to see what had happened, still cradling Michael to his chest and holding Ray and Gavin tightly.  
      And God, he’d never been so happy to see his second parents before in his entire life.  
      There was Geoff, his foot on the neck of the head guard, a semi-automatic in one hand, and a handgun in the other. His mouth was set in a deep scowl until he locked eyes with Ryan. His eyes widened a bit in his mouth fell open.  
      There was Jack, who along with Sorola was supporting a bloodied Burnie. When she saw Ryan and the boys, she gasped and stopped in her tracks. Various guys from Burnie’s crew and from crews across the city milled around behind Geoff, Jack, Burnie, and Sorola, taking weapons and supplies from downed guards, but stopped when the saw the four leaders standing still.  
      There was silence for a moment, except for Burnie, Ryan, and the head guard’s labored breathing. Then Geoff and Jack burst forward (Jack being careful to leave Burnie stable with Sorola), falling to their knees in front of their boys. Gavin and Ray stumbled out from behind Ryan into Geoff and Jack’s arms, bursting into heavy sobs.  
      “Micoo’s hurt!” Gavin cried. “Ryan too!”  
      Geoff’s eyes flicked up to meet Ryan’s and Ryan fell to his knees- everything became too much all at once. The relief of seeing Geoff and Jack, the fear and stress of getting the boys out alive, the hot numbness seeping like venom from the deep gash in his abdomen that was felt like it was crawling up his spine and overtaking his entire being and at any moment he’d drown-  
  
      Jack had barely taken Michael from Ryan’s shaking arms before the teen tried to stand, the world spinning around him. He stumbled backward, unable to catch himself, his  ribs and abdomen crying out at the jarring impact with the floor, his breathing shallow and uneven.  
      Everything around him felt muted- time around him was slow, the air was thick and hazy in his lungs, his eyes stung with every movement. _Fuck. Fuck, this can't be happening,_ Ryan thought. Sure, he'd been sliced, shot, and nearly blown up before, but nothing had ever hurt like this fiery, overtaking pain. Every breath was another stab of ice shooting through his body, freezing his heart, burning at his fingertips. Heat like a feverish August afternoon tore through his stomach. _Not now._

      Things were happening around him but he couldn't look up. He felt people at his side- Geoff and Sorola, maybe?  
      Risinger and someone else- that young medic, Trevor- were there, too, the first searching through his bag rampantly as the latter pushed Ryan’s red, struggling hands away from the wound. Risinger pressed bandages to Ryan’s abdomen, fighting to keep him still as he recoiled violently. Jack was screaming something at no one in particular: _He’s bleeding out, we need to go!_ Gunfire sounded off in the distance- incoming reinforcements of Malik’s, probably- but everything seemed so far away.  
      The radio of a downed guard crackled to life. They’d found what was left of Malik.  
      "I can’t-...!?" Ryan tried to get the words out, attempting to raise his head to see the situation around him better, but the words came out mangled, gurgling, and confused, a desperate grab at answers.  
      Geoff was screaming, too, but at Ryan, he realized. "Keep your eyes open. Look at me. _Look up, Ryan!!_ " Everything was so quiet, so faded. It was peaceful. Maybe he could just rest for a moment. His head fell back onto the floor. Everything was red and out of focus. Something bright pounded at his head and stabbed at his eyes. _Better just to shut them,_ Ryan thought.

      His vision shook and his face stung. Stars burst in front of his eyes. "Goddamn it, Ryan!"  
      "Risinger, Trevor, how's it look?" Jack asked- Ryan realized she and Geoff were holding him down. He was shaking- he tried to control himself but as Risinger kept up the pressure on his abdomen, his chest would spasm and he tried to buck off of the floor to relieve the pain, only to succumb to worried hands and more gauze. He cried out as a river of pain washed over him, he was choking, drowning, he couldn't breathe-  
      “He’s going into shock-” Risinger said through gritted teeth. "There's got to be two or three broken ribs, and this cut is dangerously deep. He’s lost a shitton of blood already. I don’t know, there's more- I can't tell. Fuck, he needs a hospital!"  
      "It’s not safe!” Burnie said from somewhere behind Ryan, his voice strained. “Malik has men across the city who have gotta know what’s happened here already- we can’t get him in and out of a hospital alive.”  
      Footsteps thundered down the hallway, shouts and new gunshots echoing loudly alongside them. Geoff and Burnie’s backup moved quickly around the people clustered around Ryan to meet the incoming reinforcements.  
      “We need to get out of here," said Geoff. “Now.”  
      "I don't know if we can move him," Trevor said, shaking his head.  
      Ryan’s dazed vision didn't show him much, but seeing Jack, Geoff, Trevor, and Risinger over him felt... reassuring, even if it was hard to make out what they were saying. His ears were ringing and he could taste the blood in the back of his throat and on his tongue. Nausea and gut-wrenching pain had filled his stomach to the brim.  
      “We don't have a choice, this isn’t working,” Risinger said, still pressing heaps of gauze to Ryan’s abdomen. “We need to move- help me lift him on three- _one, two-_ ”  
      Things faded away. Slowly, at first. He saw Jack’s eyes widen as words he couldn’t hear fell from her mouth. As they lifted him, the world spun out of control. The pulsing in his ears and behind his eyes began to slow as his heart rate slowed alongside it. The pain in his abdomen tumbled into stillness.  
      Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Salcedo holding Michael, with Gavin and Ray in tow. They were crying and clutching her pant leg, terror struck. Ryan must have muttered something, or cried out, or whimpered, or stopped breathing, because they all stopped and lowered Ryan back to the floor. Geoff grabbed his face and shook his shoulders. His vision yielded only blurs. Something pounded on his chest, hard and rhythmic, but it was far away. Jack screamed. The boys were shouting, too. Ryan couldn’t make out the words anymore.  
        
      The gunfire stopped. Ryan’s eyes fluttered shut, too heavy to open again, as if he were on the brink of drifting off to sleep. Everything was so quiet. He didn’t think he’d ever heard such silence in his life. The stillness that had settled in him was daunting. He was scared and angry and honestly a little relieved and in a rush of air the weight on his chest slipped away and the burning in his fingertips dissipated and he didn’t feel anything until


	8. Aftermath

      Again, waking up was not a relief.

    
  
      Opening his eyes was the hardest thing Ryan’d ever done- as if they’d been sealed with cement and buried. The room around him was a blur, but as soon as he was fully conscious, his heart froze for a moment- he was back in Malik's place, the nightmare had never ended, any moment now he’d be on his knees begging for his life-  
  
      But he was laying in a bed, in _his_ bed, not on a cold, unforgiving concrete floor. The walls were light and the window was open. The room was warm and peaceful. And in the corner of the room-  
      “Morning, sunshine. Almost lost you there.”  
      Geoff, not Malik. Ryan took a deep breath and stared up to the ceiling of his room in the Fake AH Crew’s best safehouse in the city. Ryan tried to sit up, but his efforts were cut off by a sharp breath and a gasp. Geoff stood quickly, worry washing over him. Ryan looked down- _fuck_.  
      His abdomen was wrapped an inch thick in gauze and bandages. Pain radiated out from under it, and Ryan groaned, resting a hand on it.  
      “Here, for that.” Geoff turned and grabbed a pill bottle and a glass of water. “Trevor said to only take two every twelve hours, but Risinger said three or four won’t kill you.”  
      “Wha- what happened?”  
      “You almost bled out. Stopped breathing, heart stopped, the whole get up. Whoever the prick with the knife was got you good.” Geoff sat back in his chair. “Malik?”  
      Ryan nodded. “How long have I been out?” he asked, taking the bottle and water from Geoff.  
      “Four days.”  
      Ryan almost dropped the water. “What? Are you shitting me?” When Geoff yielded no response, Ryan continued, frantic. “What about the boys, what about Michael, are-”  
      “They’re just fine. Michael woke up a few hours after we found you guys. He’s okay- no concussion, just a bruise. The three of them are worried sick about you.”  
      Ryan sighed and leaned back as he popped three pain pills and sipped at the water. “And my parents?”  
      “Jack called. As far as they know, you’re staying with a friend to work on your mid-year project. Who knows, it could take weeks.”  
      “And they believed that?”  
      “Jack didn’t exactly have to ask twice.”  
      _Of course she didn’t have to,_ Ryan thought to himself. He couldn’t think of the last time they’d shown an ounce of interest in him or in his wellbeing. They wouldn’t have noticed if he never came home from Malik's warehouse.   
      _Yikes. That was pretty bitter of me._

      They both sat back- Geoff leaning his chair against the wall, Ryan resting his head against the headboard, his pillow squished up against his back. The silence between them was comfortable, but Ryan could sense Geoff had something on his mind. “What’s wrong?”  
      “Ryan, we saw…” Geoff paused, searching for the right words. “We found Malik’s body. He…”  
      Ryan looked away, his face hot, angry tears threatening to spill over the corners of his eyes. Kicking up the memories of what he’d done- what he’d turned into- was painful. “I know.” He’d killed Malik. He wished that taking Malik’s life was the worst he’d done to that prick. But Ryan had torn him to shreds. He hadn’t had any mercy for the guards who got between him and the boys, either. “I know, Geoff.”  
      “Don’t get me wrong, you did good, Ry,” Geoff started. “But…”  
      Ryan didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He was ashamed of what he’d done and of the person he turned into, but at the same time, he realized… Well. He wasn’t sure what he realized. He looked away, unable to look Geoff in the eyes.  
      Geoff sighed and stood up. “We don’t need to talk about this now- you should get some rest. Jack told the boys they could check up on you as soon as you woke up, but they’re pretty riled up right now and to be honest, you don't look like you have even half the energy to hang with them.”  
      Ryan nodded- already he was tired again, he didn’t have the strength to keep up with the three tiny hurricanes, no matter how much he wanted to see them.  
      Geoff turned towards the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. “And by the way, you...” Geoff started, looking back at Ryan. “... are _SO_ fucking grounded.”

  

     Ryan stood alone in the hallway of the Crew’s safehouse, his breaths and heartbeat loud in the quiet around him. He wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, but no matter how tired he was, sleep never came. He kept seeing the bodies he’d torn through in Malik’s place reflected on the backs of his eyelids.  
      Geoff and Jack were with the boys in the living room, no doubt pouring the affection on thick. Ryan wanted to join them, he really did. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed into the bathroom, keeping the light off.  
      In the bare light of the moon through the window, Ryan peered at his reflection in the mirror. Shadows were set deep under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for weeks. It was clear that someone had attempted to get the blood and grim off of his face, but streaks remained on his temples and below his cheekbones. He didn’t recognize himself.

      When he’d killed Malik…  
      That feeling he’d had wasn’t him, he knew it. He’d just lost control for a moment… that’s all.  
      Something deep in his mind disagreed. Maybe killing Malik showed him who he really was; who he could be.  
      It had been scary. It had been dangerous.  
      It had been different.  
      But that was all after the fact, right? In the moment, Ryan had enjoyed it. He loved the heat rushing through his veins. He’d felt powerful, in control, godlike...  
      Ryan turned on the hot water, leaned into the sink carefully, and scrubbed at his face and hair with the scalding water, leaving his face pink and splotchy, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t erase how he’d stared into the eyes of his bloodstained reflection and loved the wild look flickering behind his eyes.  
  
      But the look in Ray’s eyes once Ryan had found the boys? He had been terrified of him. Ryan had made his own brother terrified of him. That wasn't something he felt like he could ever live down.

  

     _You exist to help them stay alive._  
      The memory of Malik’s taunts bubbled up, and his eyes darkened in the reflection of the mirror.  
  
      _You’re one of many nameless pawns a chess match._  
      He would follow Geoff and Jack to the ends of the Earth, he knew that. He wanted to believe they’d do the same, but… The way Geoff had looked at him, bringing up what Ryan did to Malik... Geoff did will to mask whatever he'd been thinking, but that only left Ryan anxiously wondering.  
  
      _He’d sacrifice you in a heartbeat if it meant saving his_ real  _family._  
      Did Ryan have a real family? His biological parents never saw him and hardly knew the first thing about him. They didn’t know where he really was, what he’d been doing, what had happened, and they likely didn’t care.  
      But Jack and Geoff? The boys? If Malik was right, then Ryan was just the bodyguard, their hired help, the shield separating the young boys, Geoff, and Jack from the rest of the world. Shields were just tools, tossed aside when broken or no longer needed.

      _Don’t be stupid. He was egging you on._

      But something in him couldn’t let it go. He didn’t know what was worse- being unwanted or being used and then abandoned. The thoughts grew and swirled in his mind, taking on a life of their own. He didn’t belong with his parents, and he didn't belong at the safe house. Malik was right.  
      A familiar flame burned at his fingertips, and Ryan clenched his fists around the sink, heat flooding to his cheeks, pinpricks stabbing at the corners of his eyes. He felt himself spiraling.  
      He was in no condition to leave, but he needed to get out. The walls were suffocating him. It’s not like he had anywhere to go, but he didn’t care. Turning away from the mirror, Ryan tiptoed back down the hall and into his room, shutting the door softly. Working fast, he gathered a few things- spare guns, clothes, and food left his closet for a rainy day- into his backpack. He shifted open the window and peered out. Geoff had ensured that each room was escapable in some way or another, and for Ryan that meant a trip down several balconies, a thick drainpipe, a few ledges, and a lamp post.

  

     If he worked fast, he could be halfway across the city before dawn. He could stay out there, alone in the city, for as long as he wanted. He could go anywhere, be anyone, do anything. He could find himself a normal life across the country. Hell, he could turn himself into the police if he really wanted to.  
      Or he could stick to his guns and keep up what he was good at. The streets of Los Santos were already littered with gangless vagabonding thieves and guns for hire, one more wouldn’t be a shock to anyone.  
      Ryan set his packed bag just under the window and crept over to his desk, pulling stickies and a pen from his drawer. He scrawled a quick note- maybe it’d buy him some time: _“needed some air. -R”._  
      As much as Ryan hated Malik, he couldn’t deny that he’d been right, he thought as he turned back to the open window. The Fakes were just using him. He had no ties to the crew. They didn’t need him, want him, it was just a matter of time before-  
  
      “Rye-bread?” A soft voice floated over the silence from the door- Ryan hadn’t heard it open.  
      “Are you leaving?” Piped up another voice.  
      "Can we come?" Joined another.  
      Ryan cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Gavin and Michael stood in the doorway, with Ray close behind.

  

     He snapped out of whatever spell Malik’s ideas had put him under. What the fuck did Malik know, anyway?  
      Ryan needed these boys more than he could ever express. Geoff and Jack had saved his ass on too many occasions to count. They'd given him a real home, a real family, and he couldn’t just back out now on the word of some dead psychopath.  
      Ryan turned towards the door from the window, crumpling the not in his fist and kneeling to the boys’ height. The three of them burst in, crowding the teen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

      But to be out in the city on his own? It sounded… nice. To be some notorious thief, some feared mercenary, some wayward vagabond, to have a life free of control and restraint sounded nice.  
      _Vagabond..._  
      Something deep in him liked the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


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